In the mailroom, Sam was hunched over his desk when a soft pair of hands suddenly covered his eyes.
"Carly, is that you?"
The touch was familiar, and Sam recognized her instantly.
"How is your day going, Sam?" Carly lowered her hands, draping her arms around his neck from behind.
"Just another day. As you can see, the Autobots are out there saving the world, while I'm stuck here organizing four sets of loose-leaf folders."
Sam had learned about Optimus Prime and the Autobots' recent operations through casual chats with Brains a few days ago. Though Brains stayed close to Sam, his link to the Autobots remained intact—in fact, he served as their early warning alert by Sam's side.
After a quiet embrace, Carly stood up, taking in the drab surroundings with a slight frown. "Everything in here is gray. It feels so suffocating."
"I have a meeting downtown today and thought I'd drop by. That's fine, right?"
"Hard to say," Sam stood up to face her. "The employee handbook is nearly five hundred pages long. I haven't finished reading it all."
"Let's hope you didn't violate any visitor policies, or I might be back to relying on you for my meals."
"Aren't you already?" Carly offered a playful wink. "Listen, I have a work party this Saturday with members of the Space Mountain Museum. Dylan invited you, and he really wants you to come along."
She revealed the secondary purpose of her visit. While Carly formally addressed Dylan as Mr. Gould in public, the two maintained a close working rapport.
"Wow, what an honor," Sam muttered, his expression devoid of enthusiasm.
"No need for the sarcasm. Having you there means a lot to me, okay?"
"Fine, for you, tell him I'll go. By the way, how did you get here?"
"Well..." A fleeting hesitation crossed Carly's face. "I drove."
"You have a car?" Sam looked puzzled. "Did you take one from the museum?"
As the acting director of the museum, Carly enjoyed generous perks alongside her salary, including company transportation.
"No, it's my own car."
"Since when did you buy a car? Did you hit the lottery?"
"Dylan gave it to me," Carly murmured under her breath.
"What?"
"I said Dylan..."
"Aha, now I get it!" Sam's expression soured instantly. "He bought you a car! Your boss bought you a car, didn't he?"
"Yes," Carly glanced at him cautiously, offering an apologetic smile. "He gave it to me this morning. I see it as a company perk, strictly professional..."
"Right. Let's hope so."
Sam let out a dry chuckle, choosing not to debate whether a car counted as a personal gift or a corporate allowance. Instead, he wanted to know what kind of vehicle the man had bought for his girlfriend.
"A Mercedes-Benz SLS," Carly added quietly. "A roadster. Great engine."
Indeed it was. Mercedes-Benz held a prestigious legacy across the globe, and even as a foreign brand, it remained a coveted luxury among the wealthy.
"Mercedes-Benz SLS, huh?" Sam walked over to his workstation, pulled up a search engine, and typed in the model.
A price tag starting with a two followed by six zeroes flashed on the screen, stinging his eyes.
"Carly, this car costs two million dollars!"
"I know..." Carly twirled a lock of hair around her finger.
"Do you know how long I'd have to work to afford a car like that?"
"A long time..."
"No, an eternity! A span of time you can't even fathom! I'd have to work about sixty-three years just to buy that car!"
"Sam, stop it. It's just a perk. My relationship with Dylan is—"
"I'm not talking about your boss, Carly," Sam cut in, pointing at the retail price on the monitor. "Do you know what we should do right now?"
"Give the car back to Dylan?"
"No. Sell it, and use the cash to buy our own house."
"Sam," Carly stepped up behind him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders again. "I know this is frustrating. I've been there before, but this is just how hard work pays off..."
"Listen up, ladies and gentlemen!"
Before Carly could finish reassuring him, a resonant, commanding voice echoed from the hallway outside the mailroom.
"Flash assignment! I need to borrow someone's lunch hour. Who wants to earn some extra points with Brazos?"
Bruce Brazos was the senior division director, sitting a tier above Sam's direct supervisor. He had been the one to receive Sam when Bruce Whitley brought him in for his first day at the Willis Tower.
Glancing into the mailroom as he walked by, Brazos immediately spotted the extra presence inside.
"Well, looks like I found the right candidate."
Before Brazos stepped in, Sam had already scrambled back to his desk, typing furiously on his terminal to look busy.
"Sam, the rising star of our financial unit. Look who's here visiting him today."
Brazos walked in, followed by a male assistant whose face was completely hidden behind a towering stack of paperwork.
"A friend? A relative? Or a romantic interest?"
With Brazos calling it out directly, Sam could no longer pretend to be buried in his work. He stood up and made the introductions with a touch of nerves.
"Carly, this is Mr. Brazos."
"Mr. Brazos, this is Carly."
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brazos," Carly offered her hand with poise. "I'm Sam's girlfriend."
"Sam was right, your hairstyle really is impeccably sharp."
Though Brazos was graying at the temples, his hair was styled with meticulous care, held firmly in place with pomade. He was clearly a man who took pride in his professional image.
Carly's social grace was effortless. In the elite social circles of Chicago, she could command the room with ease. Having handled countless high-net-worth clients at the museum, she knew precisely how to use her charm.
Few men could brush off a compliment from a striking woman who knew how to deliver it with genuine warmth.
"Thank you, and you look lovely yourself," Brazos smiled, instinctively smoothing his hair. He felt his pulse quicken for a brief second.
"Sam, it looks like lunch together will have to wait. I should get going."
Carly picked up her purse from the desk, pulled out a small red figurine, and set it down by Sam's keyboard.
"A little gift I picked out for you. Your favorite color."
The red figure bobbled slightly on the desk, its meaning unspoken.
"Mr. Brazos, goodbye. It was wonderful meeting you."
"Likewise."
As Carly walked out with an elegant stride, Brazos's eyes followed her all the way down the hall. The only one left out was the poor assistant, whose view remained completely blocked by the stack of files.
"Kid," Brazos turned back to Sam once Carly was out of sight. "You're a lucky man. These files are yours."
Unsurprisingly, the urgent assignment landed squarely on Sam's desk, accompanied by a few words of executive encouragement. Of course, Sam wasn't doing it for free; beyond the overtime pay, he gained favor with the division chief. Whether that favor was genuine or fleeting was known only to Brazos himself.
During lunch, while most employees stepped out to enjoy their break, Sam sat alone in the mailroom, juggling a burger, a soda, and a mountain of extra paperwork.
Taking on tasks outside his job description meant sacrificing his lunch hour, just as Brazos had framed it.
As Sam neared the end of the stack, a figure lingered outside the frosted glass of the mailroom, staring intently at the working intern. Seeing a few other employees working late across the open floor, the figure hesitated to enter.
Oblivious to the gaze outside, Sam kept his focus on wrapping up the files.
Finishing the task shortly after, he stacked the folders neatly and headed toward the restroom.
"Hi there."
Stepping out into the corridor, Sam noticed an Asian man with glasses standing near the doorway, seemingly waiting. Sam offered a polite greeting.
The man didn't respond, merely watching Sam with an unblinking, hollow stare.
Walking into the restroom, Sam recalled the man's face. His name was Jerry, an analyst in the upper division who held a high ranking just below Brazos. Sam had crossed paths with him a few times while delivering mail, but hadn't thought much of it.
The moment Sam stepped into a stall, Jerry suddenly lunged inside and shoved the door shut behind him.
"Hey! What are you doing? Have some boundaries!" Sam yelled in a panic.
Restroom stalls were meant for one person.
"My name is Jerry! You can call me the Deep King—the King of the Deep!" Jerry's eyes bulged, his gaze locking onto Sam with wild intensity.
"I know who you are! Samuel Witwicky! You're Samuel Witwicky, right?!"
He looked like a cornered animal, radiating erratic paranoia.
Sam had no idea the pressure at Accuretta could drive someone this unhinged. He shouted toward the main door:
"Security! Somebody help!"
"Shut up! I'm talking to you!"
Jerry shoved Sam down onto the seat and clamped a hand over his mouth. "Look at me! Look at me! Everything is falling apart!"
"You're in six classified photos! Two of them have Autobots in the frame! You were there in Egypt! You know those alien machines, don't you?!"
Time tended to bury the past. Years had passed since the battle in Egypt, and government agencies had deliberately scrubbed Sam's public records.
Though the Fallen had broadcast his face globally back then, everyday citizens had long since moved on, and few recognized him on the street today.
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